


Season Best

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: DADT Repeal, Domestic, Drinking, In Theatre, M/M, Running, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is a marathon, not a sprint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PJVilar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJVilar/gifts).



Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Or so Nate's heard. Hell, he ran cross-country in high school. Only the last five hundred or so meters of the race were sprinted.

Weekdays, he runs five miles in the morning. That doesn't seem like either.

*

Nate's leaning against a berm when Brad comes for him. It's twenty-five percent watch, so he sent Wynn to get a few hours of sleep. They're all alone together, the platoon at their backs, nothing but desert and starry night sky for klicks.

"Sir," Brad says, giving a quick nod.

Right away, Nate shakes his head. "No. Just forget about rank for a little while. Forget about possibly compromising the chain of command or..." _violating anything_ , he wants to say, but that might be too forward for Brad; it could definitely be considered telling.

"Or?" Brad prompts.

"Nothing. I just wish there wasn't such a gap between officers and enlisted. I wish I could be honest with you instead of telling you what I'm supposed to, and—" Brad cuts Nate off, which is probably good. Who knows how long he would've kept talking?

"You're doing the best you can."

"No," Nate says. "It's not good enough.  "

"The best you can under the circumstances," Brad insists. "Forgive me if I'm out of line, s—Nate, but look at your colleagues. We took minor casualties under heavy fire; that doesn't negate your good leadership, and there's not a man in Second Platoon who'd disagree with me."

Since he's said this much already, Nate figures telling Brad a little more can't do much damage. He knows Brad will keep it in confidence.

"I feel like I'm always just one step away for being relieved for insubordination," Nate confesses. "I'm only a junior officer. I don't know the big picture."

"You care," Brad says. "Not about yourself, or your career. About your men. About the civilians. That's what we need."  

"If only it were that easy." Nate sighs. "Get some sleep, Brad."

*

His PT gear: a t-shirt, Adidas shorts, New Balance trainers, and Under Armour if it's cold. Nate listens to NPR most days and classic rap on Fridays. He doesn't bring a water bottle with him; he just rehydrates when he's finished.

*

After he decided to leave the Corps, he couldn't get out fast enough. But there was so much paperwork, so much useless bureaucracy, that it almost didn't seem worth it. _Almost_.

It's not that the Major scheduling his sendoff ceremony for a date Nate wouldn't be in town really bothers him, but it does remind him how flawed the system is. How, at times, it seems like the Corps values polished brass and boots more than intelligence and good leadership skills.

*

The sky is dark with the threat of a coming storm. It's just far out enough for Nate to think he can beat it.

*

His paddle party was his real last hurrah. Pappy did an amazing job on the paddle, and everyone had a story to share that made Nate feel...appreciated. Like he'd be missed. Like he made some kind of difference, at least to somebody.

Mike hands Nate shot after shot, and even a few cups of some kind of alcoholic punch Chaffin made, so strong it's almost acidic. Nate tries to refuse, but Mike just says it's a tradition.

Poke's the first to leave, headed back home to his wife and daughter (in a cab, because Nate's not having any accidents on his watch). Soon after, people start to filter out, by themselves or in pairs or small groups. Lilley passes out on the porch, and Rudy and Lovell carry him to the couch. Nate's never seen him sleep without holding his M4 like a teddy bear. It feels wrong somehow.

He finds Brad sitting alone, Mike's tire swing starting to strain under his weight. The neck of his beer bottle is dangling loosely from between his fingertips, and there's a half-empty bag of tortilla chips at his feet.

Brad looks melancholy, and Nate realizes he hates that. Slowly, he moves in closer, like Brad could be startled into retreat at any moment. Except there are a lot of roots in the path, and it's dark, and Nate's balance isn't exactly great.

The bottle shatters as Brad moves to catch him, but his foot must get caught, because they both end up on the ground, Nate on top of Brad. They're close enough for Nate to feel the heat of Brad's breath, smell his shampoo and aftershave. He thinks he's getting hard just from that, and if he is, there's no doubt Brad feels it.

"Sir," Brad says, managing to sound dignified even sprawled out in the dirt. "I wasn't aware you were such a cheap date."

Using humor to deflect. Brad must be uncomfortable too, though Nate has no idea if it's because he wants this and they're in public, or doesn't want it at all.

"I think we're past rank at this point, Brad," Nate replies. He knows he should get up—Manimal, Stafford, Christeson, and Mike are still inside, and could see them at any moment—but he can't make himself.

"Do you want to..." Brad swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Nate can hear it. "Do you want to maybe go somewhere?" He sounds so unsure of himself, his words spoken in a tone Nate can't ever remember hearing in Iraq.

"Yes," Nate says. He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything so much. "I should say goodbye to Mike first."

"Go," Brad says. His expression's unreadable. "I'll be waiting."

Mike seems to talk forever, and Nate finally interrupts him.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I have to go; I..." The look on Mike's face shows he already knows what Nate's going to do. He looks like he's telling Nate not to fuck it up. "See you."

Mike gives him a firm pat on the back, and Nate's out the door. Brad's standing by his bike.  "I'm not getting on that thing," Nate insists. "You'll kill us both."

"So nice to hear," Brad says. "Officers never have faith in grunts."

"We should take my car," Nate says. He fumbles a little as he hands the keys over to Brad. "You drive."

"Clearly." Brad snorts. "You're hardly fit to. But only this once. This car is an affront to my warrior spirit."

Nate's Camry is silver and safe and a little too small for Brad to fit comfortably. Gingerly, he folds himself into the front seat, adjusting it as far back as it'll go.

"VJ won't be at your place, right?" Brad asks.

"He's visiting his girlfriend in Portland," Nate says.

Brad just laughs and shakes his head. "Who the fuck lives in Portland? No, wait, let me guess: she smokes weed; she only eats organic; she's a literature major; and she doesn't like to shower."

It'd be funnier if Brad wasn't so close to the truth. Nate tells him where to turn and tries not to think about how warm Brad's hand is on his thigh.

Luckily, it's only ten minutes to Nate's apartment. Brad gets them there in seven. Keeping his hands to himself in the elevator is hard, now that he knows Brad's in this too.

Brad pins Nate to the door as soon as it's closed; he swallows the groan Nate makes from the sheer force of Brad's motions. Nate opens his mouth when Brad bites his lip. He wants them to get as close as physically possible, and Brad seems to be going for the same thing.

*

There's a slight twinge in Nate's left hamstring. It's not new; a high school injury that started acting up again a few weeks ago. While he knows he should give it a rest and ice it, maybe even wrap it, but his metabolism has slowed down enough that he needs the exercise more than he needs not to feel pain.

*

They didn't start anything real until Nate was at Harvard and Brad was midway through his exchange with the Royal Marines. He'd thought the distance between them would be too hard to deal with, but Nate realized not being with Brad when he could was the real difficulty. Of course, the ocean between them hardly helped things, but they made do with Skype and emails and occasional phone sex.

Once, when Brad had holiday leave and Nate was on his winter break, Brad visited Cambridge. They'd spent the first day and a half of his trip inside, just fucking and talking and drinking, ordering in when Nate's stomach grumbled too loudly too ignore. Eventually, though, Nate insisted they leave his apartment and act like adults, so Brad gets revenge by making their first stop in Boston the MIT Museum.

Nate's never felt more out of place in his life—his mind just doesn't work like that—but Brad smiles a lot, so it's worth every hour. When Brad spends that night glued to his laptop, though, Nate asks him to read the first pages of his thesis.

"I didn't know you were this smart," Brad says. He's not being sarcastic. Nate realizes that Brad's never seen him in a situation where he has time to compose and polish his thoughts before expressing them.

"Surprised?" Nate grins.

"Turned on," Brad corrects, reaching for Nate. The papers get forgotten (at least for now) on the floor.

*

Nate skirts the beach, knowing the storm's too close for him to challenge himself by running through the sand. A little girl waves at him as he passes her, her hand moving until she's a blur in the background.

*

When Nate moves to D.C., Brad comes to help without even being asked. The six-pack he shows up with don't exactly help Nate finish getting the boxes in order, but it does loosen him up enough to tell Brad he hasn't signed the lease yet and ask if Brad wants his name on it, too.

"Are you asking me to, what, request a temporary transfer to Quantico?" Brad asks.

That wasn't what Nate meant. Actually, he hadn't even thought about it like that. He just thought Brad might have a place to come to if he didn't want to be alone, or a shorter flight from Kuwait. "No," he says quickly. "I mean, if you wanted to, that'd be great, yeah. I just thought you might want some ownership of it."  

"Oh," Brad says, nodding. "At my yearly performance review, I can ask. I'm sure you'll want to talk it to death with me. But maybe we should consider it."

"Maybe," Nate agrees. "Later. Not now. Right now, I really want you to fuck me over the couch."

"Sounds like a good plan."

*

The park is deserted, parents probably having decides today's not a good day for their children to run around on various metal objects.

If they had a dog, Nate thinks, they could take it running here and then let it get lots of attention from the kids. But their schedules don't really allow for a pet that needs that much maintenance, so Brad has a couple of butterfly fish.

*

The repeal of DADT feels like it takes forever. It's a long time coming, and when Nate finally hears the news, he breaks out a bottle of champagne.

 _It's done,_ he texts Brad. Nothing more, because Brad will know what he means, and it could hurt them if someone found it, since the changes won't be immediate.

 _I know,_ Brad replies a couple hours later. Nate figures he'd been on his bike, since it's a Saturday. _My mom told me. She wants to know if it means we'll finally get married._

Well. _That's_ a surprise. Even without the legality issues, Nate's never really thought of Brad as the type to get married. Not after what Amanda did to him.

 _What did you say?_ Nate asks, hoping that's enough to get Brad to say more without Nate having to ask explicitly what he thinks about the idea now that they'd be allowed to do it.

_I told her maybe. I figured that'd buy us some time on the 'giving her grandkids' issue._

Nate laughs. Of course Brad would be thinking one step ahead. Miriam Colbert already has grandchildren, though, but it makes sense that she wants more to spoil and overfeed.

So maybe they _will_ adopt eventually. A few years ago, Nate started wanting a kid to make their little family more...official's probably the word he's looking for, and the desire hasn't subsided.

*

The final stretch is always the most difficult. Nate's feet feel like they're weighted down with lead, and each step is harder to take. His breathing is always labored, sucking energy right out of him. But he pushes himself, because after, he feels great, light and elated. Plus, he really needs to keep Brad's comments about Nate becoming 'civilian soft' at bay for as long as he can.

He rounds the last corner, sweating and panting a little, to where Brad's waiting on the front step. Brad's drinking lemonade and reading an old copy of _Wired_ , but he sets the glass and the magazine down when he hears Nate approach, pulling Nate down for a kiss.

They're in broad daylight, in full public view. They're just miles away from Pendleton, not too far from the beach where drills could be taking place.

Nobody seems to care.

It makes Nate happier than he can say.


End file.
